Warmed by the Sun
by biscotti gelato
Summary: Who knew digging graves would lead to such a dangerous mess of overly attractive werewolves and unwanted feelings? Eva Caruso wanted an exciting life, but that definitely wasn't what she was looking for. Isaac/OC


**summary**: Who knew digging graves would lead to such a dangerous mess of overly attractive werewolves and unwanted feelings? Eva Caruso wanted an exciting life, but that definitely wasn't what she was looking for. Isaac/OC

**rating**: solid T

**pairings**: eventual Isaac/OC. other canon pairings. possible Danny/OC

**further notes**: Apparently my mind really likes TW because I wrote like 10k. I wrote this probably mid second season. I was going through my writing folder and found this thing so I figured I'd at least post it and write it outif I start watching TW again because I've forgotten most of it. And I'm aware of Allisaac (they're adorable even tho I also ship Scallison even tho in the beginning their relationship was extremely mushy), but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Set in season 1 before it goes to season 2.

* * *

Digging graves was the absolute _worst_ activity in the entire world.

It was not easy, fun, or interesting. It was disgusting, terrible, and downright uncomfortable. Of all the jobs possible in Beacon Hills, the only two I could choose from were babysitting and grave digging. Now, unfortunately, kids and I don't get along. It goes without saying that I had a slight tendency to give into the demands of children that leads to undeniable trouble. They're also loud and uncontrollable, but enough about that. As for grave digging? I had seen enough zombie films and re-runs of _Pet Sematary_ to know how to defend myself against possible undead bodies and animals. And I watched enough _Supernatural_ to figure: what the hell, seems like it'd be a quick and easy job.

However, I did not realise how completely _wrong_ I was. See, I thought there'd at least be a backhoe loader—a complicated machine used to dig graves—to learn from. Unfortunately, it was apparently out of commission at the moment because of some problems with the engine. It was collecting dust somewhere in the corner of the graveyard, mocking me. The only reason I was hired was because the damn thing wasn't working. I didn't know whether to thank the backhoe for getting me a job or curse it for giving me this job.

"Are you okay?" I glanced up to see my fellow grave digger quietly inquire about me. "Geneva?"

I let out a shaky breath, barely managing to steady the hold I had on my shovel as I glanced at him. Isaac Lahey. He was quite the enigma. Traits that could describe him were quiet, shy, and actually _very_ attractive. The first few times we'd worked together, we'd barely even talked, but I was making an effort to at least make things civil. I wouldn't have looked at him twice if we hadn't met, but after being saddled along with him for this job—I noticed him. I really wondered how he could have done all this crap without someone helping him. Considering his creep of a father that lazed around waiting for people to die twenty-four/seven, I bet he did absolutely nothing to help his son. "For the fifth time, just call me Eva. And I'm a-okay," I wheezed out, attempting to send him a bright grin, "just working out these muscles." My elbow jutted out slightly and I pointed an index finger at my upper arm.

His icy blue eyes briefly landed on my skinny arms before he timidly looked away. The upward twitch of his lips surprised me, however. He and I didn't really know each other that much, but he was doubting my upper strength. I mean, I wasn't ripped. But I could do four proper push-ups—that had to count for something, at least. Isaac himself wasn't a pro at weight-lifting from what I could tell about him. He had muscles, though. They showed whenever he strained to shovel out the dirt. After all, he'd probably been doing this for years without the backhoe. He was so used to it that the only way I could tell he was bothered was by the glisten on sweat on his forehead. I was a panting mess.

"What about you, Lahey?" I asked after a moment of composing myself. "You're in a worse condition than I am." And I wasn't kidding about it. He had bruises lining almost every inch of his body. Some on his face and some on his arms. At my exclamation of "Whoa, what the hell happened?" when I got to the cemetery two hours or so ago, he brushed it off. Stuttered and mumbled out an excuse of falling down the stairs. As if.

"I'm fine," Isaac stated so quietly that I could barely hear him over the birds chirping in one of the nearby trees. I looked at him dubiously but continued working.

"So... You ever see a zombie 'round these parts?" I inquired for the sake of getting rid of the damned silence. Awkward silences were not my cup of tea and I honest to god wanted to find at least _something_ in common with the guy. He turned to stare at me from his side of the grave, his expression blank. "Just curious is all. I wouldn't want to break out any of my sweet moves." I did a lame sort of arm swish thing that I probably copied off of Toph from Avatar. Oh yeah. Definitely from the earth benders.

His passive look turned into one of amusement. It was like I was hitting a breakthrough with him—one step closer to actually having him do something other than bite his lip and look away. There seemed to be a tiny smile on his lips. "I don't think you'll be in action anytime soon." Isaac responded in an amused tone, pushing his shovel into the earth again.

"Damn," I grumbled in fake-disappointment, taking a break from digging. My hands were starting to hurt again. The wood from the handle of the shovel left blisters on my hands, and I hated that. This kind of labour left me to deal without manicures and pain-free moments. Mental note: buy digging gloves. "I could've been the hero. And you could've been my damsel-in-distress, Lahey," I sighed deeply, "you'd cower in fear as I bravely blew the zombies' brains out. And then you'd totally be all over me." My dark-haired eyebrows waggled at him jokingly, my voice clearly suggestive.

A flush spread across his cheeks like wildfire. "I-If you...say so," He ducked his head, clearing his throat as his blond curls rustling in the wind.

The awkward silence grew back.

"Hey, uh, you don't mind if I hang around your house after we finish this?" I questioned suddenly. I just sincerely hoped that his father wasn't home to creep about. "My brother's picking me up later than usual, and I'm apparently not 'responsible' enough to own a car..." My eyes rolled at that—my idiot of a sibling had decided that I wasn't reliable enough to drive his precious baby. And he'd convinced my mother that I shouldn't get a driver's licence for at least two years. Selfish bastard...

His face looked contemplative. I pleaded with god mentally that his father wouldn't be home. Even though I was somewhat fine with graveyards, I didn't necessarily wish to stay in one until whatever time my brother decide to pick me up. "Sure," He reluctantly agreed, hands clenching his shovel.

My gaze fell upon the other side of the grave. It seemed a bit uneven from my view. I stalked over to the uneven side, ready to dig and dig until the horizontal pit was even. Suddenly, my foot slid across the top part of the grave, making me land in a pile of what must have been mud. It splattered against my leg in an almost slow motion, clinging to the fabric like no tomorrow.

"What the _hell_?" I yelped from the floor in utter shock. I could really feel the wet mush on my leg from the bottom of the grave—it stuck to me like a second skin, sorta like leather pants. And those were skin-tight. Isaac was at my side a second later. He held a hand out for me to take, helping me up from the mud hurriedly. "Why was it wet?" I inquired horrifically, feeling as dirty as I did the time I fell into a swamp. Long story short, don't piss of your cousin who knows her backyard swamp like the back of her hand.

"Sometimes the drainage pipes in the ground leak," Isaac informed me absentmindedly, examining my dirtied leg, "that's going to be hard to get out." Judging from the dirt stains he had on his own clothes, I could only assume that he had also fallen victim to grave slides.

My eyes finally focused on my pants, readying myself for the damage. The dark, mushy dirt contrasted deeply with the light blue colour of my pants. Damn. I should have worn something less stylish while grave digging. I turned to Isaac, a hopeless expression on my face. "Lahey, _please_ tell me you've got something I can wear other than this?" I begged pleadingly as I clutched his arm tightly. He winced in obvious pain at the rough contact—definitely because of his bruises—and I quickly eased up on my grip. "Sorry, I'm so so sorry," I apologised sincerely, feeling less panicky at the pained look he had.

"Um..." He muttered quietly, rubbing a hand through his blond curls. I watched as the sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt slid up and I silently noted the beginnings of a bruise on his arm. "I-I think I have something at home," He informed me, pulling up his sleeves again after he saw where I was looking. Should I say something again? The look on his face said he didn't want to say anything else on the subject of his bruises.

I breathed out a sigh of relief. Pointing a finger at him, I sent him a grateful smile. "You are a _lifesaver_, Lahey," I praised him thankfully, jumping slightly to hug him around the neck, "your awesomeness knows no bounds. Especially since you have the great skill of grave digging. Maybe we could be grave robbers. You'd be the Clyde to my Bonnie of grave robbing. Aside from the whole being gunned down by a group of officers thing." And then the aftermath of people cutting things off of them as souvenirs. But I felt it was best to keep that part out.

He stiffened slightly under my touch before his arms hesitantly wrapped around my waist. More words to add to the description of the enigmatic Isaac: warm and cuddly. "Thanks," Isaac whispered softly, probably surprised by my words. I bet that his father didn't even compliment him, but what did I know?

I pulled back suddenly—this was getting too awkward too fast. We weren't even friends yet. Did acquaintances even hug? It was a mere moment of gratitude toward my fellow classmate and grave digger. I gave him another quick smile, going back to my trusty shovel. My hands went to lift up more dirt and I suddenly winced at the pain.

Yay. _Another_ new blister.

_I **hate** grave digging._

* * *

It turned out Isaac had brought his bike along with him. I didn't even understand why he rode it because I was pretty sure he lived around a few blocks from the graveyard. But I didn't want to be left behind, so we both settled for pushing the bike together. It wasn't an exciting time between the both of us. I talked, he gave a few responses, and I managed to make him elicit a few smiles. When we finally got to his block, I blinked in shock. I knew the neighbourhood, and the house in the middle of it.

"Hey, you live across the street from Jackson?" I stopped from following Isaac, peering at the sight of Jackson's huge house. It towered over everyone else's homes on the block, unsurprisingly. Jackson's family was undeniably successful and things like his Porsche made sure everyone knew it. It wasn't outside, so he was probably out boning his girlfriend—nope, nope, no wrong images.

Isaac paused along with me, his eyes focusing on Jackson's house. Compared to his shack of a house, I figured that it must suck to live in front of such a mansion. "You're friends with him," He remarked, pulling his bike forward to the path that led to his front door. But Isaac's house wasn't that dreadful. It reminded me of a nice, little cottage that you see out in the woods. And no, not like some creepy cabin surrounded by a mass of trees with broken windows, cobwebs, and murderers. It was the kind where Little Red Riding Hood's grandma would stay.

"Whoa, this is a joint bike pushing activity!" I rushed toward him, grasping at the handlebars of his bike to also help him. "And not really. My brother and I are friends with Danny, so by association, we earn mutual _understanding_ with Jackson. He's kind of a douche." _'Mutual understanding' my ass,_ I thought tauntingly, _that's a nicer way of putting it._ I remember the first time I met said douche. It was a day I could never forget—it started with my brother learning lacrosse from Danny, our next door neighbour, and Jackson. Jackson had proceeded to sneer mockingly in a Malfoy-like fashion at my _The Lion King_ pyjamas and ask if I was five when I went outside to call Atticus in for lunch.

As if. It was laundry day and it was all I had to wear.

Okay, _maybe_ it wasn't laundry day and _maybe_ they were my favourite pair of pyjamas. But who could hate _The Lion King_? It was a classic and a treasure. Only Jackson could hate it—he probably didn't have a heart.

"I could tell, he's the captain of our team." Isaac agreed with a hint of amusement in his voice. Oh yeah. He was a lacrosse player—14, if I remembered correctly. I knew he wasn't on par as someone like popularity gaining Scott McCall, but he wasn't as bad as the people who were at the bench. "He likes to beat down competition, even if we're on the same team as he is."

"But you could beat him any day," I grinned up at him, and he timidly looked away after sending me a small smile. He gently pulled at his bike and I let go as he placed his bike on the lawn of the worn down front lawn. "So, I finally get to see _casa de_ Lahey."

"_Chez_ Lahey," He corrected me, busily rummaging through his pockets to find his keys.

"_Chez_?" I repeated confusedly, readjusting the strap on my bag. It was pushing into my skin uncomfortably, and since I was wearing it for so long, it'd leave some red mark.

Isaac rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, glancing back to see me. His hands were pushing his key into the keyhole, but he was looking at me. "It's French. I've been taking it for the past two years," He admitted, twisting at the doorknob on his white front door.

"Speak more French," I urged him, curiosity taking place.

"Um... _Bonjour, je m'appelle Isaac_," He mumbled awkwardly. But his accent sounded flawless. I'd seen part of a French film titled _Les Choristes_ back in my old school. Mostly because my home room teacher taught French and only had French DVDs in her classroom. And even though most of the actors were adorable young boys, Isaac sounded almost akin to them. "_C'est en forgeant qu'on devient forgeron_."

The words were lost on me. But hearing Isaac speak French was a feat that surprised and excited me. "What's the translation in English for that?" I asked, head titled.

"'Hello, my name's Isaac.'" He translated, finally jerking open his front door. The door creaked quietly, and he fumbled for the light switch in his house. "The last sentence sounds weirder when you directly translate it, but it's sort of like the phrase 'practise makes perfect'." Isaac gestured for me to go in first, closing the door after me. He pulled off the grey sweater he had on, placing it on the rack delicately as I continued massaging my shoulder.

Isaac brought me to his living room, and I saw a small television along with a few different variations of couches. "You can take a seat..." He stopped in his tracks, his voice dying in his throat immediately. For a moment, mine did too. Despite how clean his living room was, several broken glass from bottles and cups were sprinkled over the couches. I was alarmed immediately—what kind of father just _left_ all this crap lying around, especially on furniture? Did he expect Isaac to just clean up his mess?

"Why don't we just go to my room?" Isaac suggested sheepishly, ducking his head down in embarrassment as he led me away from the mess.

"Uh. Good idea," I agreed wholeheartedly, darting behind him. He walked faster than I did, considering how tall he was. We walked through the archways in his house, reaching the stairs. "Despite how messy your house is, I think it's nice. It's got a homey feel to it, y'know?" I admitted thoughtfully. A mansion seemed so big and detached, but a small house like his felt right.

"...I guess," He admitted. Finally, we reached the top of the staircase. There was a rather large hallway, which had four doors that were closed shut. Isaac led me to which one was his bedroom door, opening it quietly.

He clicked on the lights, revealing his room. It was a little bit bigger than my room, and much more neater. It looked absolutely spotless. His bed covers were perfect, his cabinets were shut all the way, and there wasn't any clutter lying on the surface tops. I hardly even bothered to fix my blankets and sort of threw my clothes into The Pile. The Pile, copyright pending, was a corner of my room where I threw clothes into. My mom had spent the greater part of the summer begging me to clean it up, but I didn't budge. I just couldn't believe a teenage boy's room was cleaner than mine. Well, this was a definite wake up call.

"So... Fortress of Lahey-tude." I tried, but shook my head. It sounded off. "Lahey-cave. The Lahey Roger." The three of them didn't sound right, but I didn't have a perfect memorisation of secret bases/headquarters in fictional series. "I'll stick with the first one. Fortress of Lahey-tude." I set my bag down on the ground, stretching my arms out. "You've got something I can change into, right?"

"I'll look for something that fits you," He promised, walking over to one of his cabinets. As Isaac rummaged through the drawers in his bedroom, I turned around and unbuttoned the metal button at the top of my pants. Tugging the soaked and disgusting attire down my legs, I barely managed to hear the sound of a thump from where he was across the room. I looked at him from over my shoulder, my pants barely below my knees. A red-faced Isaac backed up against his cabinets was all I saw. Dark red shorts were in his hands, and he clenched the material almost nervously. I could barely keep the grin off my own face—this was too _adorable_ for words.

"S-Sorry," He muttered aloud, glancing away quickly as he managed to cross the room and place the shorts in my hands. I studied them quietly, noting they looked like the bottom half of a gym outfit. His last name was in all caps on a white strip that contrasted against the red material. "It's my old middle school gym uniform," He explained suddenly and I noticed that he'd been watching me, "you, you probably wouldn't have fit in any of my other clothes."

I nodded along, kicking off the rest of my pants. If I was lucky, the dirt would come out. But stains were never really friendly, after all. The shorts fit me perfectly, reaching slightly above my knees. "You must've hit a really big growth spurt," I noted thoughtfully, considering how tall he was now compared to before. The elastic band felt a little loose, but I figured pushing out my gut would help a bit to make it fit. I grasped my dirty pants, folding them and shoving them next to my bag.

"I used to be tiny," Isaac admitted sheepishly, collapsing into the swivel chair near his desk. His hands fumbled for something on it, fidgeting with it quietly.

I pointed a finger at his bed, the sheets coloured a dark blue and neatly set across his bed. "Do you mind if I sit down here?" I asked him. He shook his head in response, and I plopped my behind down on his comfy bed. I glanced over his room, focusing on his bookshelf that was nestled in the corner. Standing up from his bed, I stalked over to the bookshelf with curious eyes.

Several books series' titles popped out to me: _Kingkiller Chronicles_, _A Song of Ice and Fire_, and _Malazan_. All of them had something in common with each other: fantasy. "You've got great tastes in books." I stated dazedly, amazed at finding several known novels I'd read also delicately placed in the shelves. "Narnia, huh." I muttered softly, finding one of my childhood preferences. My finger stroked the spine of the _Magician's Nephew_ fondly. I remembered reading it when I saw so young—a time when I was a friendless dork that read every single second without end. Recently, I'd been drifting from reading due to certain changes.

"It's one of my favourites."

I jumped at the sound of Isaac's voice being so close to me. He was only just about a few inches away and towered over me, but it felt like he was much more closer. "Mine too. Narnia's just the perfect series for childhood," I sent him an excited grin, turning back to the bookshelf, "fantasy is pretty awesome. You can escape from all your problems and the possibilities are endless—escapism is a natural thing, after all. I can't tell you how many times I would have _loved_ to meet Aslan." I looked back at Isaac after my ramblings. He had on an unreadable expression, his blue eyes focused on me.

"Yeah," Isaac agreed, shaking his head from his thoughts as he also placed a hand over one of his books, "it's like you're thrust into a new world. They're kind of a fuel for creativity—it gives you inspiration." He shyly pushed his head away after speaking, probably being timid again.

It hurt to keep smiling, but I couldn't stop after hearing what Isaac was saying. "You're going to make me cry, Lahey," I chuckled jokingly, "I'm feeling inspired myself. Do you write?"

"Not really." He responded truthfully. "Between digging graves and doing homework, the only time I have to myself is reading books or..." Isaac paused midway, and I saw from my peripheral vision that he started to shake slightly. "...helping out my dad."

I tucked away his reaction for later to think about. "You seem like you could be a great writer." I hummed out, thumbing through a well taken care of copy of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_. "You're like the contemplative, quiet guy type who sips tea and stares out the window thoughtfully."

Isaac paused from speaking for a moment. Probably floored by my outburst. Well, I couldn't help it if I said what I said. The need to speak without thinking was strong in me. "...I don't do any of those things," He replied, sounding uncertain, "I'm just a... _regular_ guy."

"Regular guys don't dig graves on a Saturday night, Lahey." I remarked, gazing up at him again. Well, that was a definite truth. He appeared taken aback by my words. But then again... "Regular girls also don't help regular guys dig graves." _Unless it's a Supernatural thing_, I added silently. "Sometimes it's okay not to be the regular chick or dude. It's perfectly okay to be an Isaac Lahey. Although I hear he can be a bit of a pain in the ass and plays _lacrosse_." I pretended to be disgusted. A note to remember, it wasn't on my list of favourite sports. I'd rather watch tchoukball than lacrosse any day.

"Really." Isaac muttered dryly. Sarcasm must have been one of his favourite things since he'd spotted my joke in the midst of my wonderful speech.

"Shh, there's still hope for you," I whispered, patting his shoulder as I struggled not to laugh, "you read books. That's the silver lining right there."

"So my only good quality is that I read books." He assumed questioningly, straightening up several novels that were crooked.

"I don't know about that," I shrugged, studying him blatantly, "you've got great hair. That counts." Those blond locks of his looked utterly divine. Even after several hours of digging, he looked like he just walked on the catwalk of a fashion show. "Hey, do you have any—" Before I could finish, I heard the familiar sound of a car rolling into the driveway. The windows of the room showed the lights flashing.

Isaac's face turned from blank to fear. He peered at the large window, fists clenching. I stared at him thoughtfully, seeing his body stiffen and tremble slightly. "I think my dad's home," He mumbled solemnly, crossing his arms under his chest. The movement reminded me of the bruises under his clothes. My eyebrows furrowed as I thought over his fear and bruises. Wait, was he—

"The power of love is a curious thing," The sound of Huey Lewis' voice interrupted my thoughts. I flushed in embarrassment as Isaac cast his gaze upon me. Could anyone blame me? _Back to the Future_ was what I absolutely lived for. Rushing over to my bag, I fumbled to find my phone through the mess of papers and books I had. "Make a one man weep, make another man si—" I finally found it in one of the pockets, pulling it out and sliding the accept option.

"Hello?" I breathed into the phone. One hand pressed the phone to my ear while the other shoved my blue pants into my bag.

"I'm outside!" My brother's voice screeched through the speakers. I winced at the loudness, pulling the phone farther from my ear. It's my brother, I mouthed to Isaac, who raised his blond eyebrows confusedly. I pushed the ear closer to my phone again, hearing my brother rant on. Apparently he hadn't noticed I wasn't listening to what he was saying. "I've got a lasagna in the oven and we'll be damned if it ends up _burnt_." He spat the word out, sounding appalled by the mere thought.

Rolling my eyes at his statement in agitation, I mocked him, "Okay, '_mom_'." At that, he made noises of protest, but I interrupted him. "Shut up, I'm going out soon." The familiar beep of the phone call ending made me scoff—idiot hung up on me.

Gathering up my things, I slung my bag strap over my shoulder and shoved my phone into the pocket again. Isaac was in his chair again, visibly much more relaxed. He seemed more at ease now that he knew it was my brother instead of his father. _Interesting_, I noted, biting my lip thoughtfully.

"Hey, I'm heading out now," I told him with a quick grin, "but before I go, I've got to ask one thing."

He nodded for me to go on.

"Can we be friends? Since we're grave digging partners-in-crime and I've already hugged you once..." I blurted out hurriedly, knowing I was on a time crunch at the moment. My brother would have my head, but I knew this was important. Sure, I had other new friends at Beacon Hills High School. But Isaac seemed a whole new different than they were—a breath of fresh air. "We're like on the level of acquaintance breaching full-blown friendship where you do everything I say and I get you to dye your hair purple to match my favourite pair of boots." Isaac blanched suddenly and clutched at his perfectly styled blond locks. I snorted at the fact that he actually believed me. "Just kidding."

He actually took his time to think it over. I'm pretty sure I saw doubt and curiosity somewhere on his face, but I couldn't say for sure. It was a bit of a tense moment for both of us, in all honesty. I figured he needed a friend and I bet he figured that I wouldn't completely mess up his life. "I wouldn't mind being your friend," Isaac finally admitted shyly, standing up from his chair. He sent me an unsure smile, blue eyes stormy with thoughts.

"So should I get us friendship bracelets?" I asked jokingly, stepping outside of his open doorway to the hallway.

Isaac let out a small laugh, "I don't think that's necessary." He led me through his house again. I took my time examining every inch of the place. Curiosity got the better of me, and I wanted to know if Isaac's mom was still in the picture. I didn't want to ask, but I wanted to know. Was she dead or did she... leave? I shook myself up when we stepped down to the first floor—that was none of my business.

Glinting in the light were the hundreds of shattered glass lining almost every inch of the room. I wondered, again, why Isaac's father would leave broken glass and not at least clean it up. That wasn't normal. I'd understand if Mr. Lahey dropped something by accident and left Isaac to take care of it. But the thing is, it was everywhere. It looked like he had deliberately thrown them the around the room to make a mess. He'd done it on purpose. But _why_?

"Eva?" Isaac's concerned voice brought me out of my thoughts.

"Hm?" I hummed out, jerking my head from gazing mournfully at what looked to be a teacup from an expensive china set to see him open his front door. The poor teacup had looked so fancy. He was staring at me silently, curious as to why I was looking at the glass. Smacking my forehead, I managed a quick and forced laugh to stop him from asking any questions. "Oh, yeah. I should probably get going." I stepped outside of his front door, turning around to wave at him. "Take care of yourself, Lahey. I'd hate to dig graves by myself without your blond head helping me out."

"I'll try." He promised with an amused smile, his pretty blue eyes twinkling in the light. "Bye."

_My new friend_, I thought giddily. Aside from slipping in the dirt, I felt satisfied with events of the night. The honk of Atticus' car made me groan in irritation. I stalked off toward my brother's car. Despite my begging for a DeLorean that fell upon deaf ears, I reluctantly admitted that she was a beauty. A 2005 Chevrolet Silverado, painted a deep and rich red. My favourite colour, after all. My brother, Atticus, was at the driver's seat, appearing anxious and impatient. He gestured for me to hurry up, an identical pair to my green orbs glancing around.

Rolling my eyes at his attitude, I shoved myself into the seat next to him. Apparently, he hadn't noticed my new set of shorts. If he did, he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he tapped his fingers on the wheel. I waited for him to give me a speech on how important not burning the lasagna was, but he surprised me.

"How was digging graves?" Atticus questioned, backing us out of the driveway. Despite his body language, he was acting calmer than he usually did. Perhaps moving to Beacon Hills had truly done a number on him.

"Tired, hungry, headache," I answered exasperatedly, leaning my head against the window of the car. Ah, the cool glass against my face was so nice. I knew I shouldn't have been crabby, but I was exhausted from work. He didn't even have a job, but he was in charge of most of the chores. The Chef and Cleaner of the House were some of his many titles.

He made a face, throwing me an irritated look. "That's not even a _sentence_."

"Your face isn't a sentence." My weak response was gold. Well, not worthy of a gold medal, but maybe bronze. At least bronze. That had to count for something.

Atticus snorted, speeding down the neighbourhood in a speed that probably wasn't legal. I knew better than to complain since the last time I did, he kicked me out and left me to walk in the heat. Now that was terrible. I had the worst sunburn ever when thar happened. "It's nice to know you're still so talented at comebacks," He muttered, braking suddenly in front of a stop sign.

I flew forward, nearly smashing my head into the dashboard. "Holy freaking _shits_." I breathed heavily, hand on my chest. This was not the way to die. The way to die was probably in Ibiza, where you partied so hard that it literally took the life out of you. That sounded like the way to go for me.

"Mom's home," He informed me suddenly, "she's taking a nap, so be quiet."

I nodded obediently. When it came to my mother, I tried to make her happy. She was actually the main reason we were had moved to Beacon Hills in the beginning of the summer—she bought an office from one of the dentists in this town and took over their practise. I think she figured she'd get more patients here than in Los Angeles, since the town was so small. And while I would miss the streets of Los Angeles, I supposed that Beacon Hills was okay. Although, I'd be lying if it wasn't boring. There was a limit to things you could do in this place. The only fun thing possible was probably the ice rink. And I didn't even ice skate.

"Oh, and I almost forgot." My brother grinned mischievously. I raised an eyebrow in suspicion, wondering what he was up to. "_Iron Man 2_ is on right now."

"Seriously?" My jaw dropped, and I looked at him excitedly. Scarlett Johansson for the freakin' win, everybody. And Robert Downey Jr. as well. Now I was really rooting for my brother to rush home.

Finally, we reached our neighbourhood. My brother rushed into the driveway, barely scraping the curb in his haste to check up on his lasagna. I was ecstatic when we reached home—I thought we'd end up dying on the way here. He opened his door and ran toward the house, rushing inside. I bit back a snarky remark to shout at him, taking my time to fall out of the truck.

_Bastard didn't even close his door_, I grumbled internally, walking over to the opposite side to lock and shut the car doors. As I pushed the door in, I heard a familiar voice cut in through the air. "What's up with your brother?" Danny inquired from his side of the fence.

"Been asking that my whole life." I responded with a cheeky smile, making him chuckle. "So what's shakin', bacon?" I grinned amicably at Danny, seeing him out on the yard with another just as gorgeous guy—Jackson, I recognised—who was leaning against his gleaming Porsche. Beacon Hills' high school was full of just as beautiful guys, something that made me keel over and thank all my stars. First Danny, then Isaac, and now Jackson. What did the mothers of this town do to have such attractive sons?

"Waiting on Lydia," Danny replied back with a grin. I recognised the name immediately—Lydia was the questionably nicer and less conniving incarnation of Regina George at my new school. And while there must have been at least five other Lydias hanging around, she was the only one tagged as important due to her lacrosse beaut of a boyfriend (Jackson) and popularity. Danny glanced over me blatantly. I let him—after all, the only thing he did was criticise a little of my outfit instead of staring at my chest. His eyes landed on my shorts and they widened drastically. "Does that say 'Lahey'?" He asked me curiously, squinting. Stalking closer, Danny pursed his lips at the letters on Isaac's clothing.

My fingers brushed against the white strip again, remembering the sight of a blushing Isaac fondly. I nodded at his question, eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah, why?"

"Isaac Lahey." Danny mused thoughtfully, and I blinked in shock as he contemplated quietly. He let out a small laugh, dimples prominent on his cheeks. "Really tall, blond, blue eyes, nice jaw?" I nodded at his description. Danny whistled lowly, sounding impressed. "He's not my type, but wow. Nice to know you've staked your claim so quickly."

_Staked your claim?_ I repeated in my mind, confused even more so at his words. "Er, what?" I asked cluelessly, crossing my arms under my chest. What did this have to with Isaac?

"He means that you're _banging_ Lahey, Caruso," The other guy rolled his eyes, sounding exasperated at my obliviousness. So he was listening to our conversation. But it wasn't my fault I wasn't getting the memo—Danny was the one making strange as heck assumptions.

Danny shot a hand out to smack his friend on the arm as my mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Jackson." He snapped in a reprimanding tone, but his friend just smirked coolly. Then Danny turned back to the gaping mess of me, waving his hand dismissively. "Date whoever you like," He told me before whispering the next part loudly, "just make sure to use protection. Before you guys hump, cover his blond curly-haired stump."

"Whoa." I narrowed my eyes at my new next door neighbour. Such statements threw me for a loop—leaving strange and inappropriately vivid images of Isaac in my mind. I was torn between whether I was feeling creeped out or disgusted. Most people would probably be embarrassed, but I would be lying if I hadn't already wondered what he was packing underneath all that—not counting the bruises. But this was _not_ funny. This was not what I had in mind after a gruelling few hours of working out in a graveyard. Isaac was nice and cute and all, but I didn't really see him that way. And I was almost certain that kind, but overly nosy old lady living to the left of Danny's house was kinda listening in. "I'm not dating Lahey," the words were stressed on my end, "we're coworkers—no, _broworkers_. I got my pants wet—"

"Interesting," Danny interrupted with a raised eyebrow, appearing both scandalised and amused by my choice of wording. I groaned at him and slapped a hand over my forehead while Danny and Jackson chuckled heartily at my expense. "Okay, we'll stop." He held his hands up in defence after I shot him my deadliest glare. His eyes slid to my open front door and then back to me again. "So," He began, his voice failing to sound inconspicuous, "what's Atticus doing?"

Ah yes. Danny may have been a little too fond of my brother. Something about "his face and his ass and those big green eyes" excited Danny. Too bad he didn't know that my brother was an adamant heterosexual and was overly obsessed with Scarlett Johansson. Could you blame him? About the Scarlett thing; I absolutely _loved_ that woman. "I'm assuming he's watching Scarlett shake her thang in _Iron Man 2_," I recalled him grumbling about how I had ruined his movie time, "and I probably should, too. He also made some magnificent lasagna." I rubbed my stomach just thinking about it.

"Your brother cooks?" Danny asked in shock, mouth agape. I don't know how people found a guy cooking sexy or appealing, but I could tell that little ol' Danny did.

"Big time. Whoever ends up bagging him is one lucky lady," I nodded furiously before sending him a suggestive wink, "or man." The slight pink on Danny's tanned cheeks made me giggle hysterically. I hit it right on the mark. Deciding that was enough teasing for Danny, I changed the subject. "So where's Lydia, anyway?"

"Inside," Danny replied, jerking his head toward his house. I fought back a grin at the mere idea that Lydia was taking her time and doing the crime in his bathroom. Although, that probably wasn't it. "She's helping my mom pick out clothes for her date with my dad. And probably clothes for after." He shuddered in disgust, a trouble look on his face. "I'm hoping to at least stay out until it's late. And if I come home and they're still going at it like a cat in heat, can I hang out at your house?"

"Of course, Danny. You're always welcome to our house whenever your parents are doing the bone dance," I assured him, trying to sound as comforting as possible.

"Just stop," He gagged quietly, revolted by the mere idea, "I'll already have to deal with Lydia describing every detail of her outfits."

And with another mention of the strawberry blond girl, she burst through the front door of my neighbour's house. "You're going to look absolutely stunning, Ms. Māhealani!" She exclaimed promisingly to the grinning face of Danny's robed mother. With a wave of her bracelet encased wrist, Lydia walked down the front entrance with a bounce in her step. She gave a flirty smile to Jackson, who was still leaning on his car, before she noticed Danny and me.

"Eva," Lydia greeted me, a pleasant smile still on her lips. Smiling just as awkwardly, I watched her scan over my choice of clothing. "Like the top, but," She winced pityingly, "black doesn't go with brown."

I glanced down at my black sleeveless shirt, the bottom of it flowing out to my hips. Deep brown was the colour of my baggy cardigan sweater. _Fashion rules_, I recalled. I know she took them seriously, but I could care less about them. I mean, who really cared if you wore white after Labor Day? Besides... I probably pulled it off.

"See, _you_ just _can't_ pull it off," Lydia remarked bluntly, shaking her head.

Oh. Whoops.

"You know what? You should come with us," Lydia suggested excitedly, grasping at my wrist tightly. I tried to wiggle out of her grip, but she held on with a strength that could probably rival her lacrosse-obsessed boyfriend. Her white teeth flashed scarily and I barely contained myself from whimpering—Lydia may have been the most fabulous girl I'd met, but she had a tendency to insist people do things that she wanted. She had a certain charm (force) to make things go her way. "They've got these cute tops in the new shop that opened up at the mall." She informed me. "And you should get some new ones. Definitely a new cardigan." I resisted the urge to gasp—I'd had the precious cardigan since I hit puberty and it helped me hide my body whenever I felt a plummet in self-esteem. I just ignored the holes that were in the stitches of the left sleeve. "Don't you agree, Danny?"

"She could," He shrugged his shoulders, leaning against the wooden fence that kept our houses apart. I gazed at him pleadingly, begging him to make her stop. Instead, he sent me a devious smirk, eyebrows raised. Wow, looks like he was enjoying my pain. If only I had the powers of mind control...

"So?" Lydia asked expectantly, her other hand on her hip that was sticking out. "Are you coming with us or not?"

"I can't. I'm really sorry, Lydia." I tried to make myself sound as genuine as possible. Like hell I wanted to go out—I just wanted to collapse on the couch with a plate full of homemade lasagna and watch Scarlett. There were moments when I felt like I had to play nice to Lydia and this was one of them. It was simply because I felt like I was an expendable friend. She may have not been the perfect pal, but I didn't want to lose any friendships or be left behind. The last thing I needed was to be aband—no, _cut loose_. "Why don't you ask Allison?" That brunette was a blessing in disguise. She was pretty and all, but the thing I liked most about her was the fact I could use her to get Lydia off my case.

"Ugh, no. She's moping about Scott ditching her at the party on Friday—which you didn't attend." Lydia remarked accusingly, a glare emanating from her. "I've already offered her almost every guy on the team, but she's refused to even consider them."

"True love and all that other nonsense," I coughed into my hand hurriedly. "But the thing is, I just got out of a tiring day of work—"

"It must have been quite the work-out," Danny piped up suggestively, snickering from his spot. Obviously he was talking about my disarray of hair and sweaty skin. But using all the wrong reasons. I now regretted ever asking Isaac for his shorts. I'd rather have Danny and Lydia stick their noses up at my dirty clothes then have them riding my ass about Isaac—no matter how cute he was.

"No. It wasn't." I hissed out, a heated glare sent his laughing way. Lydia glanced between the both of us confusedly, not understanding what Danny had just mentioned. I threw her back on track again. "I can't. I need to take a bath and then finish a couple of assignments. Besides, Scarlett Johansson is awaiting me in my house."

"Ugh, fine," Lydia irritatedly consented, loosening her Kung-Fu grip on my arm reluctantly. As I breathed a sigh of relief, she pointed her index finger straight at me. "But just remember—you owe me." She waited for a moment, gauging my reaction. I nodded slowly, and a satisfied look crossed her face. She stalked over to her boyfriend, looping her arm in his as she giggled.

Danny cleared his throat. "So, I guess we'd better get going—"

"I've got my eye on you, Daniel Middle Name Māhealani." I was a bit surprised to realise that I had absolutely no idea what his real or full name was.

"Actually, it's short for Dan_te_." He admitted, grinning widely at me.

"Seriously?" I questioned, shrugging off my bag and throwing it on top of the pickup truck. "Like il Sommo Poeta Dante Alighieri, whose _Divina Commedia_ warms my heart to this very day?" I clutched my hands to the left side of my chest, sighing dramatically. Perhaps I should join the drama club.

Danny just stared at me in disbelief, a deadpan expression on his face. "I'm threatened to call you a nerd. Like right now. I didn't understand half of what you just said."

"Me either," I barely stifled a laugh at his unamused expression, "my Italian teacher had a massive thing for the poet guy Dante and made us write sentences about him. It's integrated into my mind." That part was entirely true. I could barely remember anything else about the Italian language or conjugation considering I only took it freshmen year at my previous high school and Beacon Hills didn't offer it. My Italian notebook was probably around somewhere if I bothered to look for it. But damn—learning languages was difficult as hell. "But is your name really Dante?" I wondered, curiosity taking hold.

"Nah, I don't even know what it stands for. Everyone just calls me Danny." Danny shrugged his arms carelessly. His eyes glinted mischievously in the setting sun, catching me off guard. He leaned over the fence and whispered to me a few choice words. "And remember what I said, young Eva—don't be silly, wrap his willy."

As he leaned back, I stared at him in horrified shock. Second condom joke of the day and I still was not amused. If it hadn't concerned me, then I probably would have been laughing my ass off. "How do you even know so many condom jokes?" I asked, actually amazed at his ability. I could barely even remember a punch line and even then I occasionally got the words messed up.

"I don't know—it's a gift." He waved his fingers at me in a goodbye motion, sauntering off to join an impatient Jackson and waiting Lydia. Lydia waved a hand at me from the passenger's seat of the Porsche as my neighbour slid into the back seat. "I'll see you soon," Danny called out as the car started. Jackson peeled out of there like there was no tomorrow, leaving me waving before I yawned.

I leaned against my brother's car, rubbing my eyes tiredly. The grave digging had made me exhausted, but I was pretty sure Lydia and Danny were the ones who made me want to pass out. The two of them combined was too much for me to take.

My mind drifted to Isaac. The bruises he'd tried to hide so carefully flashed through my mind. And they weren't just from today. I'd seen a lot of injuries on him from the last few weeks we'd be working together. Cuts were another frequency on his body. But the look he had of pure, utter terror when he thought he heard his dad's car pull into the driveway... I wasn't blind, nor was I stupid enough to not notice what was going on with him. His dad may have abusing him. But I didn't exactly have a lot of options to choose from and I didn't want to jump to assumptions. There wasn't solid proof or evidence that anything was going on. And even if I reported it, I wasn't sure if Isaac would say anything to the cops—I didn't know him well enough to try and do anything for him just yet.

I guess that's the time when I decided. Decided to reach out to the kid. If I became close enough to him, maybe I could get him to speak out to someone about the abuse he could be suffering from. He looked like he needed a friend, considering all he did was dig graves. The fact that no one else seemed to notice his bruises or bothered to give a damn enough was startlingly absurd.

Pulling at my bag on top of the truck, I blew out a sigh. Enough thinking for tonight—I was gonna get me some grub and relax on the couch. Tomorrow was Sunday, after all, and I'd be lazing it off as well. I may have done a little lying to Lydia since I'd finished my assignments on Friday until late at night. That was the main reason I skipped out on her party.

My boots dragged against the pavement as I trudged toward the front door. I'm pretty sure those orchids in the front yard were Atticus' doing. Ugh, flowers were such an annoyance. I only hoped he didn't leave me to take care of it. The front door was left slightly ajar, and I slipped inside.

With hope in my chest, I rushed toward the living room to find Scarlett Johansson kicking ass at Hammer Industries. Instead, I found myself looking at a screen with credits. The familiar sound of AC/DC's legendary "Highway to Hell" was blaring from the speakers of the television. My jaw dropped. "Atticus," I shrieked, whirling to face him in his arm chair, "please tell me you recorded it?" The pleading tone in my voice made him smirk evilly.

"No_p_e." The 'p' was stressed heavily, arrogance in his tone.

"I hope you _burn_." I groaned frustratedly, rubbing the top of my head to ease the pain.

Atticus barked out a laugh, stretching his arms up to the sky. "I'm going out for a run. Mom's asleep, so don't make loud noises. Lasagna's on the oven—it's hot so don't eat it right away," Atticus instructed me as he shoved on his pair of sneakers hurriedly. Our Jack Russell terrier, Taco, wagged her little brown tail and barked excitedly. She ran in circles beside my brother, jumping up and down every so often on his legs. "I'll be back in thirty minutes. If I'm not back by then and I'm not answering my phone—"

"Take your comic books and porn mags and donate them to Beacon Hills' local library." I finished the sentence for him, collapsing on the couch in relief. Kicking off my mud encrusted boots on the wooden floor, I sent him a wicked grin. "Got ya covered."

"I—I don't have porn mags." He denied embarrassingly. A disbelieving scoff past through my lips at his obvious lie. I'd gone through his comics to find the first Batman one and found some hidden and stuffed into comic books. I'm pretty sure a 1999 edition of _Hustler's Asian Fever_ had nothing to do with Green Arrow unless the superhero had a thing for Asians. On another important note, I made sure to carefully and thoroughly scrub my hands clean after going through his things—because the situation was too nasty for my hands. He cleared his throat, the tips of his ears still red, "You need to call the cops. Okay?"

I nodded absentmindedly, barely glancing at the clock that read it was a bit past seven. "Bye," I mumbled out, hardly paying attention. My hands fumbled for the remote that was on the coffee table as I heard the sound of the front door being shut. The sound of Taco's enthusiastic barks faded into the distance while I popped open the guide to see what was on.

"Nope. Nope. Ugh, porn channel," I made a face as I browsed through the channels to find what to watch. If only _Iron Man 2_ hadn't ended so quickly. I'd be in Robert Downey Jr and Scarlett Johansson heaven. It wasn't necessarily for the plot or the superhero; it was just because I had a thing for Scarlett and RDJ from previous acting roles they were in. Eventually, I settled for _Friends_—the part where Ross goes to China and then brings back a girl to the US and then Rachel is left feeling alone. That heartbreaking part.

_Oh, Rachel, hun, it's going to be okay._ I thought sympathetically as I yawned into my sleeve. Gosh, I was really tired. Snuggling into the pillow couch that still smelled like plastic, I decided a little rest wouldn't hurt.

* * *

"—Mr. Sheffield!"

My eyes popped open instantly. Oh god, not _The Nanny_. I grabbed the remote and hurriedly punched in the number for the murder mystery channel, messing up slightly because I had just suddenly woken up. A sigh passed through my lips when it finally got to the channel. The Nanny was just not my cup of tea. Fran Drescher's voice was definitely _not_ my cup of tea.

I stretched my arms above my head, yawning loudly. My stomach growled loudly, leaving me with only one thing in mind—delicious and delicious lasagna. I shoved off my cardigan as I stood up, feeling overheated and constricted by the material. Stopping before the large mirror beside our front door, I scratched at my chin. The dry skin there made me wince in disgust. Apparently the new moisturiser I'd bought wasn't doing a good enough job. And it cost me twenty dollars, I thought dejectedly, oh the pain and costs of beauty. Unfortunately, I'd yet to solve the problem of dry skin and the pimples developing under my jawline. It wasn't anything that makeup couldn't cover up, however.

Deciding that I'd done enough scrutiny of my bad skin, I moonwalked to the kitchen. No one was watching, so I was free to embarrass myself all I wanted. I draped my clothing over one of the wooden chairs, pushing it toward the table with my hip. We didn't have a dining room and the kitchen barely had room for our table, but we made it work.

Grasping for a plate and utensils from the cabinets, I tried to ease my mind off of the great smell the lasagna was emanating. It was simply beautiful. Atticus may have been a dork, but his cooking skills were downright magnificent. If he became a culinary chef, I'd go to his restaurant every day.

Wait. Wait wait wait and wait one damn second.

_Atticus_.

My utensils clattered to the granite counter tops harshly, the sound ringing in my ears. I barely had time to register that I dropped them or wonder if my mom had woken up. Instead, I rushed to the steel oven across the room since I couldn't see it from where I was.

In a blaring colour of blue, it read 832.

"Eight three two." I breathed out. Inwardly I hoped that it was the oven's temperature at the moment. Then I slapped myself on the cheeks lightly, balking at my idiocy. The highest our oven could go was 500 degrees Fahrenheit. And it was now clear that there was a colon between the eight and three. "Stupid, stupid," I chanted anxiously, running from the kitchen to the living room.

Rummaging through the pockets of my purse, I ripped my phone out. My mind was freaking out, a blur of questions and worries running through it. I ignored the new text message icon that was flashing, too bothered to even read it. Holding down on the number three, I waited for the speed-dial to work. It rang once before going straight to voice mail. "Hey. You've reached Atticus—" At the sound of my brother's casual sounding voice, I hung up, nervously biting down on my thumbnail. It was a habit I was trying to kick since it made my fingernails disgusting, but I was worrying my ass off. Here's the thing: Atticus _never_ went off schedule. He was on time for everything, never stepping a toe out of line.

_Call the cops_, rung through my mind. There was always that misconception that a person can't be assumed missing unless gone for twenty-four hours, but I knew better. My fingers shakily found my phone again, and I pressed the nine just as the front door burst open.

I jumped from my seat instantly, hurling myself against the opposite side of the couch. My heart beat like crazy, but I recognised the person who opened the door. "Atticus," I whispered softly. Inwardly, I was relieved. So damn _relieved_. "Why weren't you answering?" The frustration and anger in my voice was blatantly apparently, making Atticus frown. Here I was, getting all worked up when he was fine.

He raised an eyebrow as Taco sat beside him silently. That was strange. Usually she was so happy and jumpy that she tired everyone out, even after taking her for walks. "Why didn't you call the cops?" He countered. Suddenly, he winced and clutched his side as if he was in pain. That _wasn't_ fine. The black sweater clung to his skin tightly, like the hair on his forehead did. Sweat and—I nearly did a double-take—blood mixed on his face, making it shine. Now that I could see him better, I saw slight cuts marking his cheeks. His brown mop of curls looked messier than usual since they were tangled with leaves and dirt.

"I fell asleep and barely woke up," I rushed out, a frown on my lips, "I missed like half of the season premiere of the second season of _Friends_. And that is a _crapload_ of drama."

"Rachel totally deserved it." Atticus snorted, pulling off the leash from Taco. _Friends_ was sort of a shared interest in our home. I remember my mom used to let us watch it with her when we were younger, and the fondness hadn't worn off. "She took all that time to realise she's in love with Ross and _only_ because Chandler let her know that the poor guy was still pining over her. 'You don't know what you got 'till it's gone' has never been more appropriate."

"How can you even talk smack about _my_ Rachel—no, _nevermind_ that!" I shook myself after my fuming question, knowing I was getting way off topic. "Why do you look like you wrestled with a bear?" Seemed like he had. I mean, unless he fell down and landed in a pile of leaves and didn't want to admit it. That was probably it, but the next words he uttered had me rethinking that scenario.

Atticus chuckled humourlessly. "Definitely wasn't a bear," I barely heard him mutter out before he wandered into the kitchen.

I stared after him, confused. _What in the world was going on?_

* * *

**further notes**: On the whole escapism thing, I wouldn't be surprised if Isaac escaped from the reality of his father abusing him by delving into books. Anyway please review, fave, or alert if you liked it! Thanks for reading, dear readers.


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